


Take You There

by bad1ands



Series: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days AU [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Aspects of:, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Choking, Couch Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dom Derek Hale, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Feminization, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Stiles, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Spanking, Stiles-centric, Sub Stiles, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad1ands/pseuds/bad1ands
Summary: On his knees is where Stiles thrives, and he imagines he could stay like this for days, enjoying his hard work and reveling in the limelight – a new age art form to Stiles’ deprived desires.(Or where Stiles and Derek venture into Dom/Sub dynamics, neither expecting how Stiles reacts so zealously in his role.)





	Take You There

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Talk Me Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521139) by [bad1ands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad1ands/pseuds/bad1ands). 



> This is an excerpt from a remake of my Ziam fic _All is Fair in Love and War_ , which is an AU based off of the 2003 film _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_.
> 
> I plan on remaking the rest of the fic to make it into a Sterek story as well.

Stiles feels relatively blithe as he enters Derek’s apartment, troubles lightweight on his back after the high of speeding through nightlife Manhattan. Ash’s yipping at his feet, and the view of the cityscape below is breathtaking. A rainbow of lights illuminating the darkness that the sun left behind.

“I want to pay you some attention, _Słoneczko_ ,” Derek starts as he closes the door behind them, soothes circles into Stiles' lower back, “but can I catch the game highlights first?”

Unbothered, really, Stiles nods and traipses his way to Derek’s vast white sectional, the leather smooth and rather comfy against his worn muscles. The crash from an artificial high is always trying, and it's honestly a feat to toe off his Converse.

Derek putters around with his swanky gadgetry before turning on the t.v. and standing a mere five feet away from it to lend his attention to Sportscenter.

Calling Ash over seems much more appealing to Stiles, so he does so, fonds gently over the wiggly pup as he runs his hand down Ash’s back, lush black fur.

An indeterminable amount of time passes to prompt in Stiles' nodding off, the low chatter of sports commentators and the crackle of the fireplace (that Stiles wasn’t even aware of Derek kindling) a muted background and the perfect lull into respite.

At some point Derek slips down onto the sofa next to Stiles, secures an arm around Stiles' shoulders that the younger leans into until he’s got his right leg thrown over Derek’s, arm tucked over a firm chest and nose nuzzled to the crook of Derek’s neck.

“You sure are sweet when you’re sleepy,” Derek chuckles low in Stiles' ear, smooths his palm down Stiles' spine until thick fingers are gently massaging the small of his back.

Stiles can only hum in response, aroused by the piney citrus clinging to Derek’s throat, shirt collar. Somewhere in a far corner of his mind he’s able to grasp that pine and citrus shouldn’t overlap to stimulate both his olfactory and taste receptors, but that doesn’t stop his tongue from darting out to flick just under Derek’s jaw.

Derek barely flinches, takes the attack in stride to simply lean back further into the couch, spread his thighs wider, deftly work calloused fingertips under the knit of Stiles' sweater to press Stiles' hips heavier to his leg.

Encouraged and awaking from his stupor, Stiles regains a bit of muscle control to roll his stiffening dick down onto Derek, let the man feel it twitch as he suctions his lips just over the hollow of Derek’s throat, tongue laving to soothe any sting. A few nips are thrown in for good measure as Derek’s hand comes up to caress the nape of Stiles' neck, sharp gasps making Stiles want to grind harder into Derek’s sturdy thigh.

“Hey, hey, slow down, baby,” Derek coos, rubs his warm palm under Stiles' sweater to rest between his shoulder blades as Derek’s other hand fixes itself on Stiles' jaw.

Stiles hadn’t actually been aware that pitched whimpers were running rampant past his lips, but as soon as he pulled his mouth away from Derek’s neck he had to assess his mark, kitten-lick over the abused skin. And that had let his vocals run free with noise, apparently.

Presently, Stiles takes a deep breath, stations his left hand to the couch and the right just over Derek’s heart, begins maneuvering himself onto Derek’s lap, which Derek helps him with by trailing his hand from Stiles' jaw to the backside of his thigh to pull Stiles over both of his own legs to settle on top of them.

“Slow,” Stiles consents, locks his eyes with Derek’s. And he does move leisurely, fingers kneading over Derek’s pecs before strolling their way to the back of his neck to nestle themselves in the shorter locks at his nape.

Looking into Derek’s eyes the whole while, the man is solid and assured, but his eyes are wide and a bit hazy. Stiles imagines he himself looks much the same, ruffled by a bit of sleep left in his features and mouth blushing.

They both know that they’ve already gained too much momentum to gently roll to a standstill; stopping now would be disastrous – bruised limbs and a mess of an intersection. So they’ll have to settle with not making it past the green light and instead too far over the crosswalk. And that’s possibly the worst analogy Stiles has ever conjured, but –

He kisses Derek then, determined yet gentle as he frames a top lip and allows his nose to rest against Derek’s. And Derek opens up in response, snakes his tongue out to trail Stiles' bottom lip just as his hands grip hips.

It’s sloppy, really, with both men looking to gain the upper hand. But Stiles loves it, loves the pressure of paws squeezing his ass and teeth tugging at his lip and bright eyes wide and dark and wanting. Not to mention, Stiles can feel Derek’s bulge pressed to his ass, and the grunts uttered every time he rocks down against Derek are dangerously wanton.

Soon Stiles won’t be able to hold off longer, will have to get Derek into his mouth, but for now he takes the time to map out the ridges and contours of Derek’s shoulders, chest. Lazily undo the top few buttons of Derek’s Henley just to offer a cheeky smirk and get the same in return. He thumbs over pert nipples and elicits a sharp yip from Derek, the latter making quick work of punishment by landing a playful swat over Stiles' butt.

“You just can’t get enough of my ass, hmm?” Stiles taunts, cuts through the silence as he rises on his knees slightly, pushes back into the cup of Derek’s hot palms with bold intentions.

Derek just tugs Stiles back down, ruts up and swivels his hips without breaking eye contact. “I would watch that mouth, _Słoneczko_ ,” he lifts a thumb to press against Stiles' lower lip, drag it down lingeringly, “Only my good boys get special attention.”

Inexplicably, a whine chokes its way out of Stiles' throat, distorts his features into displeasure and pushes him to cocoon into Derek’s embrace, snuffle into his neck for the intimacy of skin to skin contact. And he doesn’t know which further instigated the awful flush creeping down his neck – the type of play Derek’s words conveyed or how he reacted to them.

“Stiles,” Derek calls his notice, calm and stern as he removes his feverish hands from Stiles' backside, helps the crème sweater to find its place covering Stiles once again. “I need you to look at me, love.”

Still trying to recover from the sudden onslaught of emotion, Stiles just clenches his fists tighter into Derek’s shirt from where they’re serving as a barrier between chests, squeezes his eyes a bit tighter and presses his forehead into Derek’s collarbone.

Mercifully, the older boy allows Stiles to come back at his own pace, offers soothing touches up and down his arms and gentle noises Stiles thinks a mother might sound to reassure her offspring. (Which is a bit odd considering the situation, but.)

Eventually Stiles raises his head and lets his hands fall lower against Derek’s stomach, fingers aching a bit from the release of their tight hold on Derek’s shirt. And a new blush is eating its way at his cheeks now because he’s a bit shy to meet Derek’s gaze that’s hotly observing his expressions, slowly creeping up in degree to where it’s burning a hole through Stiles' skin. Or at least that’s what his mind plays it up to be. All he can do to avoid confrontation is turn his cheek, focus on Derek’s inked forearm.

A tender kiss is pressed briefly just below the jut of Stiles' cheekbone, and Stiles can’t help but lean into it slightly. But he’s only left with tingling skin once Derek pulls back to get down to business. “We can stop now, Stiles. We don’t have to take it any farther until we’re both ready.”

Stiles only puckers a pout at that, not wanting to quit but not knowing exactly what to say to explain what came over him.

Derek tries a new tactic: “Have you ever played out a scene before, Stiles? We don’t even have to go there, but I know you’ve reacted positively to dom/sub overtones before, so that’s why I initiated it.”

“I’ve never – I don’t…” is what Stiles fumbles with, sighing deeply because he sounds like a fool.

“That’s alright, baby,” Derek coos with his hand running up and down Stiles' spine over the sweater, a coaxing pressure almost. He seems to understand what Stiles is getting at. “Just let it out, yeah? It’s just me.”

That shouldn’t strike a cord inside of Stiles. They’ve barely known each other four days, after all. But Stiles resonates with Derek’s point anyway, feels like the man is one of the more accepting, genial souls he’s ever met despite his gruff exterior. So he leans in to share a slow, supple kiss, hands pressing flat to Derek’s waist.

Righting himself after a moment to breathe in and out, Stiles articulates, “I’ve never explicitly defined any sort of BDSM scene with anyone. Like, aspects may have been incorporated, but…”

“That’s fine,” Derek assures, rubs soothing circles into Stiles' jaw, “We don’t have to put a definition to it. Just whatever you want and are comfortable with.”

“Okay,” Stiles enunciates, eyes still downcast, finger fidgeting over Derek’s stomach, taking note (not for the first time) of the thicker hair around his navel it.

A moment flits by. “Do you want to tell me what you were feeling when you closed off?” Derek questions softly, head tilting to try and secure the boy’s gaze.

Again Stiles goes for Derek’s buttons, locks eyes on wispy chest hairs because – hot. “Um,” he starts distractedly, “I just felt really vulnerable, like. I didn’t want to think about not pleasing you, maybe?” his explanation ends in a lilt, a question as he finally meets Derek’s thoughtful eyes.

Derek’s features soften in a bit of understanding. “No, Stiles. You could never disappoint. Nothing you’d do would be wrong.”

Falling back into Derek’s chest is the most natural thing Stiles has done all night, muffling an “Okay” against Derek‘s shoulder.

“Can I ask where we’re at?” Derek requests after a minute or two of relative silence, fire dancing still and Sportscenter talk dulled. “We can do whatever you want, babe. Cuddle, sleep, play a bit of video games or something,” he chuckles at the end.

“Um,” Stiles raises his head to flick his eyes to Derek’s, “I think I want to be good for you.”

“Yeah?” Derek lifts a brow, tugs up a smile, “you’re being just perfect right now.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, the movement allowing the release of an unbelievable amount of tension. “I want to be your good boy,” he mutters, bounces his ass down over a half-hard cock to drive home the point.

“Alright, alright,” Derek tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a groan in that his dick is definitely perking up with interest. “Stay still so I don’t bust, sweetheart.”

Predictably, Stiles only smirks mischievously at that, grinds just a bit slower for a pause.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, delivers a rather harsh smack to Stiles' backside.

An exhale hiccups out of Stiles as his brows furrow. “You can’t just spank me whenever I’m naughty, Derek.” His arms nearly cross in defiance, but he imagines Derek would merely eat it up.

Slightly affronted, Derek’s eyes widen, tone daring, “Oh, is that so? Because I swear you just admitted to being naughty,” Derek emphasizes, eyes unyielding, “And it seems to get you back on track. I thought you said you wanted to be my sweet boy.”

“I do,” Stiles croons, stuck between disgruntled and submissive, “but spanking?” he gives a dubious look.

Derek settles into a bemused smirk, leaning up to mouth at Stiles' jaw, incite a gasp. “I believe you like it, _Słoneczko_. Am I right?” he whispers, pulls back for an answer.

Flaming cheeks stand as response in lieu of words, Stiles dropping his chin.

“You know the stoplight system? Green for go, yellow for caution, red for stop. If you feel like you won’t like something, just tell me yellow or red and we can pause to work over it. Alright, baby?”

Stiles nods, lifts his chin and presses his smile briefly to Derek’s lips, excited to get moving. “I’m green, so can we go?”  
One of Derek’s hands cups the nape of Stiles' neck, the other finding its way to fiddle just under the lip of Stiles' jeans, and he really can’t help but chuckle at the man’s eagerness. “Yes, Stiles.”

Another kiss for good luck is administered, Derek settling back against the couch and allowing Stiles to run free with his antics, the latter dipping to lick back over his handiwork at the hollow of Derek’s neck before kissing down wiry chest hair.

Stiles idly works over Derek’s skin, shuffles to his knees slowly and tugs up Derek’s henley to finally get a look at his stomach. A garbled whimper resonates throughout the open space, but Stiles hardly takes note, plants his hands on Derek’s jean-clad thighs to watch Derek lift the shirt over his head and toss it to the end of the couch.

Stiles can’t help mewling again – this time for attention. Craning his neck upward and puckering his lips is met with an amused smirk from Derek who doesn’t dare jibe, just lets Stiles steal a peck. “That’s it, babe. Let me hear you.”

Urged on, Stiles can’t help suctioning his mouth just below Derek’s naval, fingers curling into Derek’s hips as he swirls his tongue over the taut skin in his reach, raspy hairs caught up in the mix, and a needy groan sounds as he leans back slightly to get an eye of Derek’s happy trail. He’s such a sucker for body hair it’s almost worrying. And he bets Derek has _a lot_ of it considering he can wolf out.

And the only thing grounding him is Derek’s palm at the back of his skull, soft encouragements.

Not exactly thinking over what he’s aiming to articulate, Stiles searches for Derek’s eyes, rushes, “I might want to call you 'Daddy,'” as soon as Derek’s gaze connects.

Immediately blood rushes to the peak of Stiles' cheeks (which, honestly, how much blood does he have if he’s already flushed and hard as a rock?) but Derek dismisses embarrassment quickly. “That’s very brave of you to admit that for me, _Słoneczko_.” His voice is gentle and reassuring as his fingers curve to fit against Stiles' chin. “And my cock really likes the idea as well.”

An airy giggle bubbles out of Stiles' throat, Derek’s joke serving its purpose to relax them both further. And without further ado, Stiles focuses back on worshipping Derek’s torso, straightens up tall to kiss gently over each of Derek’s blushing nipples before he finally fits his hand over the bulge of Derek’s solid dick.

On his knees is where Stiles thrives. And the longer he’s positioned like so, Derek’s thighs encasing him, he can feel the confidence rushing back into him. It’s something about being able to hold someone’s vulnerability in the palm of his hand (literally), witness the stuttering underside of a jaw and the overall loss of control.

And the fact that he’ll be able to unravel sure, poised, ardent Derek Hale sends a power rush straight through Stiles, which pools deep in his belly, accumulates in his balls.

Stiles continues to pet over Derek’s cock, locking eyes with him for the older to offer a shallow nod. Leaning forward is almost involuntary. But Stiles trusts his more primal urges, noses his way from one side of Derek’s tummy, across his lean muscles and to the other side, moves back center to whine over and place open-mouthed kisses just above Derek’s waistband.

“That’s such a sweet boy,” Derek murmurs, eyes bright and endeared with a subtle twist of his cherry lips.

For all the bravado Stiles has amassed, Derek’s compliment still calls red anew to his countenance. Stiles tucks his chin and preens under Derek’s attention.

An abrupt vibration shocks a flinch out of Stiles, Derek going stock-still before grimacing irritatedly to fit his hand into his front pocket to retrieve his phone. The device goes off again, and Stiles realizes it must be a call as Derek furrows his brows to glare at the screen, backlight harshly bright, blue-washing skin.

“Everything alright?” Derek answers the call, fixes his eyes somewhere on the wall behind Stiles.

He doesn’t exactly mean to let out a dissatisfied grunt, but Stiles thinks his cause is dignified. Who the fuck puts off getting head to answer a call?

Derek tosses him a brief, contrite look with scrunched brows and a frowning pucker, but Stiles is hardly mollified, instead more determined to show Derek what his mouth can do.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” Derek stresses bluntly, tone clipped. His hand goes to push back a bit of Stiles' hair that’s drooped over his eyes, palm resting to cup his cheek – presumably so the boy knows Derek’s attitude isn’t result of his own actions.

Stiles doesn’t waste time, goes straight for the buckle over Derek’s jeans and then his button and zipper. Derek’s obstructing hand tries to settle over Stiles' but the younger boy merely slaps it away, sends the iciest glower he can muster up at his date.

The rewarded glare is naught to mess with, actually sends a chill down Stiles' spine. Luckily, Stiles is too pumped on adrenaline to back down, has Derek’s jeans down as far as they’ll go (without Derek actually moving) to fit his hands over gray boxer-briefs and cup the outline of a well-endowed cock, thick and heavy.

“I’m hanging up, Erica,” Derek recites mechanically, voice tight as if he’s trying to hold air in his lungs.  
Stiles' interest is piqued at the name, but then Derek’s phone is thrown to the end of the sofa and the man growls a “Fuck, Stiles,” which sends Stiles' organized thoughts into a whirlwind.

Patience is not one of Stiles' better-developed qualities. At least not when he’s horny and has a point to prove. And all of the above apply currently, so it’s with little grace that Stiles reaches inside Derek’s pants, revels in the body heat of Derek’s groin to trace his rasp of naval hair downward and around heavy balls.

“That’s it, baby,” Derek encourages huskily, rising slightly to push his jeans and pants off his legs with the help of Stiles.

And suckling tiny kisses over the V of Derek’s groin, the creases just before thigh, over feverish nuts takes the cake for the highlight of Stiles' night. There’s something so primal about his innate desire to relish in the overwhelming smell of man, musk and all, springy curls tickling his chin.

And he’ll give in to it every time.

Derek’s dick is jarring against the tanner complexion of his stomach, already ruddy. Veins litter its expanse and the foreskin is tight around Derek’s rose-pink head, and Stiles doesn’t bother to muffle a moan as he tilts his head to mouth from base to tip, graze his tongue to try and get a rise out of Derek.

The man seems to know what Stiles wants, at least, scolds a, “C’mon, Stiles; quit teasing.”

Not that the instruction works very well. Stiles does press fingertips into the flesh of Derek’s inner thigh, though, his other hand cupping the base of Derek’s dick to stand it up as his wild eyes connect with Derek’s slightly dazed pair.

Wanton hums fill the air from both parties when Stiles gets a good grip on Derek, holds the man’s eye while he kitten-licks at the tip in efforts to grant himself a bit of pre-cum, dick kicking against a broad, smooth tongue. And Stiles can’t help but smirk, puff out his chest at the reaction, which isn’t exactly astonishing. He’s played with a mirror before, and he knows exactly how good he looks in action.

“Shit, babe – ‘s right,” Derek stammers with hooded eyes and fingers creeping to work over his nipple.

Stiles lets go of Derek to lick his palm before delivering shallow strokes from the base up, his right hand running over Derek’s chest to help him out a bit, offer touch. Bending down again to gentle his open mouth over the tip, Stiles can imagine how it feels – humid and tight. His rampant thoughts send a twitch through his cock, but his own stifled pleasure is more than compensated with a flush of bittersweet pre-cum over his tongue, a louder grunt from Derek.

It’s a bit slow, Stiles knows, but he wants to be able to become familiar with Derek’s wide girth, the taste of his nut, anticipate how it’ll stretch and paint his throat to help get himself worked up.

Dragging his hand back down from the expanse of Derek’s belly, Stiles uses his free palm to peel back the foreskin from Derek’s flared head. It’s such an angry red that Stiles almost takes pity, stretches his mouths delicately around it and rests his tongue on the underside, the rim, pumping a bit tighter at the base while twisting just below his mouth. It honestly appears like he’s wringing Derek’s dick, but Stiles has practiced the trick on himself enough to know that it sends a shock of overstimulation to your neurons, tires you out and makes you blurt out stickiness in the confusion of whether it’s painful or pleasing.

Predictably, Derek’s cock spurts out a steady stream of heady wet, helping Stiles to slick up his play toy.

“Stiles,” Derek reacts with a helpless gasp, sits up straight and plants his feet firmer beside Stiles' knees to grapple for a sense of control, “your mouth – come here, sweetheart.”

The man grips at Stiles' jaw so tight there are sure to be bruises, but Stiles will pardon it because Derek’s other hand fits itself under his pants, squeezes his ass hard, and a quick tongue shoves into Stiles' mouth for a desperate kiss.

The pained whimper is hardly out of Stiles' throat before Derek is jerking back, which really only causes confusion and an even more pathetic whine of tight vocal cords.

“Fuck,” Derek curses, mouth in frown and eyebrows jarred, “We didn’t even talk about roughness or painplay. Are you alright?”

If anything, Stiles thinks he’s contracted whiplash from the change of mood. “What – ?” he so thoroughly articulates, a garbled choke following because he wants Derek’s touch again but the man’s got his hands to himself. “Do you mean – ? Are you worried about manhandling?”

Derek’s lips only thin at that, and Stiles is sure Derek won’t say more if he thinks he’s done something wrong, so Stiles wraps his fingers around Derek’s wrists, tugs them each to his mouth to place delicate kisses on the insides before he places them over his shoulders, cups Derek’s cheeks to offer a reassuring press of lips. “We did talk about this, Der. I’m green. You have to trust me to use my colors when I need to, and I have to trust you to do the same.”

Eyelids flicker over dark irises for a moment, Derek breathing deeply in and then out before he opens them again, strokes his hands over Stiles' neck, his pulse point. “I’m sorry, _Słoneczko_. I’m still working with knowing my own strength, and – God – your hands are so good; I had to feel you, but then that wretched noise you made –“

“I know,” Stiles flushes prettily, grins a bit shyly because he doesn’t know how that came about either. “I didn’t mean to, and it wasn’t because I didn’t like it. I want your bruises all over me, and you already know how much your hands on my ass get me going.”

The smug little twist of a smirk plants itself on Derek’s lips for the nth time. “You do get off on it, don’t you, baby?” Heavy paws find their way to the front of Stiles' jeans, Stiles' breath hitching as Derek gets his pants down his legs, leaves the briefs in place but sinks his palms under the article and over the plump curve of Stiles' cheeks.

A sickening keen works its way out of Stiles' throat, and he darts forward to attach his mouth to Derek’s spit-slick lip, bites softly as he tries to cant back into the pressure of Derek’s hands. With his fingers playing against Derek’s stomach, grounded, Stiles reinforces, “Green.”

A sweet half-smile is offered before Derek agrees, “Green,” squeezes his ass heartily before slipping his hands out of Stiles' underwear. “Let’s get you undressed, baby.”

Stiles consents with a nod, fumbles to get his skinnies off of his sock-clad feet before raising his arms and allowing Derek to remove his bulky pullover, set it delicately on the back of the couch.

It seems they both share an affinity for worshipping their partners’ bodies, chests. Because as soon as Stiles is settled back on his knees, Derek has his fingers trailing over prominent collarbones, pecs, tracing moles with eyes entranced.

Stiles lets Derek do as he wants, but he doesn’t let anything stop him from taking Derek’s cock into his hand once again, relishing in the feel of it after so many obstacles between them throughout the night. 

And Derek hardly takes notice, too busy inching closer and closer to Stiles' nipples.

Stiles lets his jaw drop and quickly encloses the head of Derek’s dick once more, tongues at the slit before flattening out his tongue and bobbing once, twice, letting the slick sound of sex coat his senses before he slowly works his way further over Derek’s girth, lips stretching wide.

“Yeah, baby,” Derek mumbles, voice husky and lewd as he finally allows himself to smooth his thumb around Stiles' nipple, causing them to pert up, “such pretty tits.”

Hardly surprised, honestly, Stiles is. Just figures Derek has a thing for nipples – a feminization kink at that. Stiles is even a bit intrigued, never having tried it out before but his dick throbbing nonetheless.

Subsequently, Stiles lets himself off of Derek for a moment to catch his breath before dragging down the foreskin to lip at the tip. He rubs his palm over the sensitive glans, witnesses a vein pop out in  
Derek’s forehead as he stifles a grunt, pinches Stiles' nipple.

It’s a bit of a blind, desperate mess them going back and forth with their antics. But it’s so fucking satisfying.

Ducking to get Derek back into his mouth, Stiles hollows his cheeks and covers his teeth, gingerly sinks down until Derek’s grazing the back of his throat. He lets it rest there to get used the tickling pressure, but his cool is almost lost when Derek twitches out more pre-cum, making Stiles groan and prickling the beginning of tears.

When he pulls off he knows he looks like a hot mess, a fat tear pooling in his left eye and cheeks red from exertion with a string of drool connecting his lower lip to the crown of Derek’s cock.

Even still, “Such a beautiful boy,” Derek coos with his thumb sweeping sweetly over the arch of Stiles' cheekbone, finally back from his little trance over uncharted skin. “So good for me.”

It’s a hiccupped sob, shed tears that preempt Stiles breaking any sort of resolve and clutching at his clothed cock, gasp echoing out in relief.

“No,” Derek asserts, defined warning in his clear tone, “No touching. My good boys don’t get to touch themselves without permission.”

Stiles wants to cower, and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t understand why Derek has this affect over him constantly. So he whimpers instead, clasps his hands behind his back to show that he wants to please.

“That’s it, baby boy, trying so hard for me,” Derek murmurs. A hot palm fondles Stiles' cheek for the younger to nudge into. “Color?”

“Green,” Stiles rushes, kisses at Derek’s palm and pleads with his teary doe eyes.

“Alright,” Derek grabs his prick, jerks off a few times, “do you wanna open up for me, sweetheart?”

“Um,” Stiles fidgets a bit, trying to keep his fingers from going numb in the death grip he’s got them interlocked in, “Can I have a kiss first please?” The request it so timid, but Stiles can’t help it. He can’t control how he reacts to Derek’s allure.

Derek’s brows dip to form a crease before he leans forward to concede Stiles' surging up for a near-frantic, wet lip-lock. “Of course, _Słoneczko_ ,” Derek declares, reinforces by holding onto Stiles' chin and pressing a peck to his slack mouth once more after they’ve separated.

Dutifully, Stiles settles back on his heels and tilts his chin up to offer an open mouth and eager tongue.

Groan rumbling in his chest, Derek can’t take his eyes off of Stiles' submissive enthusiasm, his pretty little tongue and smooth skin. He scoots forward a bit and Stiles moves with him to hover his mouth just in front of Derek’s dick. A tap against Stiles' bottom lip and the boy chases it with a furrowing brow, already another whine.

“Hey, baby,” Derek garners attention, “I’ve got you, alright? You’re gunna get plenty, trust me. Now are you gunna let me help you swallow my cock?” he lifts a brow, taps his tip against Stiles' lip again to test the boy’s reserve.

A jolting nod is Derek’s answer, Stiles not exactly trusting his vocal cords not to embarrass him.  
“Come forward, then.”

And Stiles does, holds his mouth open as wide as possible to let Derek feed in his cock generously. Again it rests at the back of Stiles' throat, both of them easing into the stimulation so as not to become overwhelmed.

“Christ, I could bust already just looking at the dirty mouth, _Słoneczko_.”

It’s a gravely scrape in his throat and a squeeze of the eyes that keeps Stiles from shoving down on Derek’s dick at the compliment, automatically wanting to show off. But he refrains, nevertheless, feels more hot tears trek down his flaming cheeks as he breathes calmly in and out of his nose.

After a bit Stiles thinks he can take more, locks gaze with Derek’s lust-dark green eyes as he expands his throat, sinks down just an inch more. He tries flexing around Derek’s width, comes back off of it when he elicits a curse.

And he knows he must appear debauched and fucked, lips bruised and hair crazed, eyelashes thick with clinging dew. The harsh breathing only adds to the look.

Derek settling a hand to the back of Stiles' skull serves as a comfort and encouragement, Stiles eating it up as he greedily swallows the offered cock, sinks as low as he dares with two more inches still he hopes to get down his throat.

“The tip, baby – be a good boy,” Derek grunts out, the treatment working at him as he begins to lose his cool.

Stiles gladly sucks at the head, relishes the satiny, stiff flesh, Derek pumping out fluid relentlessly. It’s such a shame Stiles has done little to play with the foreskin, so he pulls off to drag it up and over the tip, pinches it closed for a shock of sensation to Derek, works his tongue between skin and glans. Citrus seems to exude from Derek’s pores, apparently, his fluids bitter-tart with the hint of it as well.

And Stiles imagines he could stay like this for days, enjoying his hard work and reveling in the limelight – a new age art form to Stiles' deprived desires.

“Shit, baby boy. The things I could do to that mouth – wicked.” The praise is a choked grunt. But it rings loud and clear. “Don’t think you can get away with being naughty just because your tongue is so good, though,” he adds as if by second thought, a ramble.

Stiles is almost not able to concentrate on such complex sentences while his hands are pumping, so he peers up at his dom (because he’s accepted that dom/sub play is exactly what they’re at, and he’s so weak for it) to try and maintain grip on reality, but his eyes are blurring with tears, and his ears only pick up lewd slurps and skin on skin.

Still, Derek continues his spiel, seems to only be emboldened by the lewd boy’s interest between his thighs: “The next time you pull some disobedient shit like you did while I was on the phone just because you’re a greedy little boy,” a rough thumb smears at the corner of Stiles' mouth, forefinger pressing against hollowed cheek to feel the glide of his cock inside, “I’ll lay it out on you so hard my hand will become a tattooed imprint on your ass.”

Gentle touch contrasting with severe words, Stiles erupting a whimper that’s only strangled around Derek’s dick. It’s all a rush of sensation straight to his head, panic trickling down his spine because he doesn’t know why he can’t decide if he’s more turned on or resentful of the warning, hiccups edging up his throat because he’s stuck between wanting to show he’s not a bad boy, that he doesn’t need to be punished but craving Derek’s heavy hand all the same.

And it’s so wet that Stiles sobs around the furious, throbbing crown of Derek cock, pulls back to blubber out, “Please, Der, want it so bad.” In the back of his mind he’s able to fret that there might be snot soon, but at the forefront is still the overwhelming carnal urge to please and be used.

Derek wasn’t expecting a breakdown – that much is certain. But he’s quick to gentle his demeanor and lean forward to Stiles' rescue. “Hey, look at me, sweetheart, focus,” Derek advises with his forefinger and thumb caressing Stiles' chin as his other begins thumbing away furious tears as they fall.

He does, he does look to his dom, twists his fingers in their clasp because he has to touch but Derek didn’t tell him he could move.

After about a minute of hushed nothings and pettings Stiles is still sniveling in recovery, but his eyes are steady as they can be, and his breathing is leveling out.

“I know what you need, Stiles, and you have to trust me to take you there, yeah?” Even though his voice carries authority, those puppy eyes are popping out, affected by Stiles' instability. “You’ve been so good for me, sweetheart, and I need you to calm down or else you won’t be able to help me finish.”

He feels so out of it, so vulnerable and he knows he needs to get a grip but the waterworks just keep flowing, and the regret that he won’t be able to see Derek’s pleasure through to the end has his features contorting in trepidation, these god-awful animal noises clawing their way out of his throat. And fuck – there’s definitely snot.

“I know,” Derek coos gently. His hands busy themselves running up and down Stiles' bare arms, his throat, raw cheeks. “Everything’s alright, _Słoneczko_. Just breathe with me, and then you can get a taste.”

A nod is all Stiles can offer, listening to Derek’s deliberately deepened breathing so that he can match them, slow his heart rate. On the way down, Derek warns that he’s going to reach for his tossed henley, retrieving it to dab gingerly at Stiles' tear-soaked face and snotty lip. Stiles is actually a bit surprised at the lack of drool.

Once his head is clearer, Stiles hushes, “Green.”

Derek’s a bit dubious: “Are you sure, sweetheart? Don’t get me wrong, your mouth is better than anything, but I want you to be able to enjoy this too. We can settle down now and there will be no foul.”

“I want it, Der, please,” Stiles requests, extremely pleased with his level tone even if it’s still too quiet.

It takes a moment, but, “Alright, baby. Can I see your hands?”

Hesitations plays on Stiles' account as well. Carefully he releases his fingers from their clasp: he knows they’ll be sore tomorrow.

Derek doesn’t comment on the wariness, just opens his palms for Stiles' to lay against, cautiously lifts them up to brush his lips over the knuckles. “My brave, brave boy,” he murmurs, a soft, indulgent smile.

The urge to hide his face from Derek is absolutely ridiculous, especially considering Stiles has had the man’s enormous cock down his throat and is about to go back at it. But logic hasn’t played a role in any of Stiles' actions thus far, so all he can offer in response is averted gaze, ever-glowing cheeks.

Stroking his neglected prick is Derek’s next step after having placed Stiles' palms on his thighs. It hadn’t begun to soften throughout their rather intense therapy session, is still dying for release, and Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because Derek just has a staunch sex drive or if Derek too gets off on holding control over his lover’s competence.

Either way, Stiles sits patiently, giddiness welling back in his gut at the prospect of being filled up. And his grin is hardly contained.

“Look at you,” Derek is back to taunting, basking in his role, “my polite boy absolutely gagging for it.”

He can’t deny it, merely opens his mouth back up in awaitance. And he’s granted use just a moment later, Derek easing his cock past Stiles' lips and over his wet tongue. Being able to work his mouth again is shiver-inducing-ly good, Stiles taking no time at all to fit his throat around the greater majority of Derek’s dick.

After a few moments to clutch his throat tight around Derek with noisy glucks and Derek cursing to high heavens as result, Stiles pulls up a bit, catches Derek’s gaze and entwines two of their hands to let Derek know what he wants.

Graciously, Derek delivers the request, catches his left hand around Stiles' neck and carefully lifts his hips to fuck gingerly into Stiles' pleading mouth.

Keening contentedly, Stiles can imagine the obscenity of his appearance, but he thinks his view of a groaning, yielding Derek is just as nice – if not better. Something about taking apart this collected man sends a thrill through Stiles, and he finally allows himself to acknowledge his own desire as it keeps his dick hoping and longing stiffly.

Wanting to get this show on the road, Stiles begins bobbing his head down to meet Derek’s shallow thrusts, risks cupping Derek’s tender, angry balls for the satisfaction that would come from being able to feel them tense up and shoot out.

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek moans heatedly, “Baby, thank you; that’s so good.”

Stiles tugs lightly on Derek’s sack, goes down a bit deeper and clutches tighter to Derek’s fingers he’s still entwined with even though his hand begs for relief from the ache.

“Don’t swallow yet. Hold it on your tongue,” Derek instructs, fingers pressing Stiles' head down farther.

He stays sheathed on Derek’s dick for a few moments, let’s Derek jerk up roughly to beat the inside of his throat even though his bloodstream is quickly soaking up all the air in his lungs. But Derek knows himself well, pulls out just before he begins nutting.

Panting, tongue out and greedy as ever, Stiles can’t decide whether to watch Derek’s pulsating cock or his blissed-out expression, flits back and forth to witness both. And he obeys so well, both hands clasped in his lap so that Derek can jerk himself to completion.

Wave after wave splatters over Stiles' tongue, lips, jaw, eyelashes, and his tongue waters, the musky, animal taste already resonating with his filthy taste buds. But he keeps his tongue out, curls it slightly to hold all he can.

Derek can’t seem to take his eyes off of Stiles' face even to blink, the sharpness of his features and the smooth of his pale skin contrasting so well with Derek’s milky seed. With one last tug he nearly collapses, lets go of his raw dick to grab ahold roughly of Stiles' exquisite jaw. “Such a good boy for me, _Słoneczko_ ,” he exhales in a rumble.

It’s with a thirsty throat Stiles finishes his job, spitting out Derek’s cum over his cock before licking it back up, covering all he can of the length and sucking him dry. He continues to mouth lazily up and down Derek’s dick until Derek whines with discomfort.

“Let me get a taste, baby,” Derek requests with dazed eyes and a heavy thumb steering Stiles' chin. He’s fighting to not fall completely out, Stiles can tell – a toddler ignoring sleep. Wait, maybe that’s an inappropriate analogy for the situation.

But Stiles gladly meets Derek’s lips, lets his tongue be sucked into Derek’s mouth and pets over downy thighs and quivering abdominals until Derek comes back to himself. “You taste so good,” he admits, wants to be able to treat Derek like the older has him – so nicely, “I can’t get enough.”

A pleased smile while Derek edges a thumb through his spunk all over Stiles' face, feeds a willing mouth with it. “Come up here,” Derek huffs, still working on his breathing, “Let me touch my perfect boy.”

Stiles scrambles off the floor with Derek’s hands gripping his upper arms to assist, carefully sits himself just before Derek’s wilting cock so he doesn’t cause discomfort. “Please, Der,” he’s back to his whimpering self, “I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“You are, sweetheart,” Derek assures, “you are so perfect, so gorgeous for me.” Arms wind tight around Stiles' torso, the younger humming into the security and shamelessly rutting his clothed prick between their stomachs with toes hooking against the edge of the sofa for any type of leverage.

He’s back where he started, coming full circle with his nose chilling the clammy juncture of Derek’s neck. And the heavenly scent still exudes, strong but nowhere near overbearing, the matching essence to the man’s gentle, convivial soul Stiles has been able to acquaint himself with. It’s a balm to any apprehension melding in Stiles' core that could possibly lead him to regret what’s partaken.

Stiles almost doesn’t want to move from his position, rather enjoying Derek’s broad chest, shoulders, firm arms. And he feels almighty on Derek’s lap, which he won’t even try to explain because he can’t quite decipher why.

But then Derek’s sponging delicate kisses up the side of his neck, ironing his rough palms down the expanse of his back, molding over taught muscles to grab a handful of ass.

A muted mewl Stiles lets escape, gives himself a moment to present his throat in submission and bask in the teasing affection. Soon Derek’s lips become too ticklish, though, and Stiles has to lean back to smirk at Derek’s cocky advances, brushes loose hairs back off his man’s forehead.

Derek’s so incredibly adorable, Stiles thinks. Always poised, ruggedly handsome, but now he’s sleep-tired and fluffy, playful. Scruffy jaw and bushy eyebrows, goofy looking with glinting eyes and pretty lips. The hair, though. The hair sticking straight up as Stiles holds it at bay. That’s what sets off a torrent of giggles from Stiles.

“What are you laughing at, you nut?” Derek questions, smile inescapable as he begins playing with Stiles' cheeks, pressing and spreading with a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Stiles settles down gradually, is stained with a half-smile, though, and fond eyes. “I love being able to mess you up,” he murmurs, gaze flitting all over Derek’s countenance from chin to forehead.

“That you do, _Słoneczko_ ,” Derek affirms with a hint of somber reserve, but then he’s puckering his lips, and Stiles can’t help but oblige, multiple pecks that gradually grow giddier, messier, harder to break away from.

Derek presses Stiles' hips flush against his lower stomach, curses out, “Fuck, Stiles, you’re so hard.”

That fact had been lost on Stiles. Not that he didn’t know, but it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind until Derek mentioned it. And now that the situation is back into focus, he can feel the discomfort distorting his disposition, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching as he digs his fingertips into Derek’s shoulders, grinds against Derek’s washboard stomach..

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek demands, his aura of dominance back in full force with stern eyes and a set jaw.

Stiles is helpless to his audible gasp at the brashness, eats it up nevertheless. “’m sorry. I don’t know – I didn’t –“ he cuts off, tries to marshal his thoughts into a coherent explanation as to why his own desires were almost unconsciously put on the back burner. “I wanted to be good for you,” he finally whines the most logical answer he has. Once he’s set his mind on something he doesn’t let anything get in the way, after all. Hyperfocus, hello ADHD.

“Hey, focus on me, Stiles,” Derek instructs, steadies the boy with his palm at the square of Stiles' jaw, fingers splayed behind the younger’s ear and thumb just in front. He waits for eye contact before, “I want to make you feel good, but first and foremost I need you to feel safe. You don’t feel safe when you get yourself worked up, do you?”

The question is more rhetorical, but Stiles answers anyway: “No.”

“And if I you’re trusting me to get you off, get you there, then I need you to be completely honest with what you’re feeling so I can talk you down before you even get worked up.”

Stiles nods along, sinking into the pressure of Derek’s palm. “’m sorry, Derek. I didn’t mean to not tell you how badly I need it. I don’t mean to lose control.” As if reminded, one of Stiles' inner gators starts pumping his blood quicker, his tone subsequently pitching.

“I believe you, sweetheart,” Derek concedes, “And don’t feel like you’ve done anything wrong necessarily. This is new, and we’re learning how we work together. I should have been more alert as well.”

Fingers clench in his lap, but the pain sort of helps Stiles keep rooted to reality. “Are you mad?” he near squeaks, apprehensive of the answer but itching to know anyway. And his nerves must be written all over his face in wide eyes and a drooping frown.

“No, Stiles,” Derek croons, thumb so gentle to Stiles' cheek. “I’m not angry. You've been such a perfect boy for me, so how could I be mad, hmm?”

Stiles lets his eyelids flutter closed at the praise, embraces the light flush to his cheeks. Next he presses lips to Derek’s palms, begs out a “Green.”

“Alright,” Derek’s tempo is still slowed, “tell me what you want.”

“Um,” Stiles works to express his urges, “I want to cum.”

“Okay. I’m going to stroke you off, then. Can you get my fingers wet, please?”

Stiles readily sucks in Derek’s first two digits, laves his tongue between and swirls around, measuring the crooks and thickness of knuckles. Simultaneously, Derek hums encouragement, brings up his left palm to lick at.

Too brief of a time span passes before Derek’s extracting his fingers from Stiles' wet cocoon, and Stiles' displeased grunt is eased when Derek drags fingers down his crack and wraps a hand around his cock all at once.

Stiles bucks up with a start, gasps treacherously obscene-like with a dropped jaw, digs his nails into Derek’s shoulders.

“Let go, baby boy. Let me make you feel good,” Derek mutters at the edge of Stiles' jaw, spreads Stiles' ass cheeks wide with his thumb and pinkie to tease around the dry, tight furl. He also takes the opportunity to stroke Stiles' rigid cock roughly, balancing the pleasure scale between not enough on one end and almost too much on the other.

“Fuck,” Stiles hiccups out a strangled cry, pounces on Derek’s raw mouth for something to do, but really he’s only panting, not kissing. The almost tickle-light press of Derek’s fingertip is intoxicating.

“That’s it,” Derek commends, eases a damp finger into Stiles' quivering hole and keeps his jerks steady, thumb sweeping over the head to gather slick.

“Der,” Stiles tries to push back on Derek’s finger. He’ll welcome the burn of the stretch, wants to squeeze around something, _anything_ at this point.

“Be careful, baby,” Derek is quick to admonish, back and forth they go, “I don’t want you hurting yourself, but you can fuck down on my fingers if you think you can take it.”

“I can. Please,” he assures, is already performing the honors by swiveling in tight circles to eat thick knuckles past his hungry rim.

Derek gives Stiles' prick a squeeze, takes a moment to readjust grip before he’s stroking back up and down, adding a twist near the head that has Stiles pinching his eyes shut so they don’t bulge out. “You take it so well, babe, work so hard for it. Are you trying to show off for me?” the question ends in a tease, likely to rile Stiles up in the best way.

It’s a pathetic whimper that answers, Stiles bouncing up and down easily on Derek’s sturdy digit. He’s restless trying to find the best angle, hit that spot inside of him, so he reaches back to grasp Derek’s wrist. “Another. I need another,” comes out rude even to his own ears.

“Oh?” Derek hums, clearly amused, “I thought my good boy is supposed to be polite and ask for things he deserves, not demand.”

Stiles fusses messily, “I am your boy,” almost defensive even though it’s hard to hold a severe argument when you’re fucking yourself crazy on someone’s fingers, tears threatening to spill from stimulation.

“Yes, you are my boy, Stiles, you are,” Derek leaves Stiles' dick to pry away the locked grasp around his right wrist, pull out of Stiles while the boy is too shocked to fight, “And I know how sweet you can be for me, so why don’t you try again?”

“Mmm,” Stiles cries nonsense, cock throbbing in pulses and hole aching to be stretched because he’s so, so close. “Daddy, please – I’ll be so good, I promise – I’m, sorry,” it’s a blubbering mess. And, really, is either actually surprised that there are loose tears?

If Derek is stunned by the address he doesn’t show it, takes it all in stride. “Ask me for what you want, sweetheart.” Knuckles smooth back floppy hair.

“Your fingers, please,” Stiles falls forward into Derek’s shoulder, bites at the silky flesh to relieve the ever-building pressure in his belt.

Derek is appeased, apparently. “Okay, scoot up,” he instructs as his left hand cups Stiles' ass to help him rise, right hand sneaking between quaking thighs to get in between spread cheeks, work two fingers into Stiles' ass diligently.

The moan of satisfaction is so lecherous beside Derek’s ear, the older crooking his fingers slightly to work with Stiles who’s tilting his hips slightly, looking for the perfect angle. It’s obvious when they find it, Derek rubbing a tender bump and Stiles turning his head to suck at Derek’s neck.

Sanity is a lost cause after that, Stiles bouncing and grinding a mile a minute like he was born to take it up the ass, Derek greasing the slide by murmuring ‘that’s it, baby’ and ‘good boy’ as leeway for heavier desires. And somewhere between Derek praising his boy for such a wet pussy and promising to fuck all the way down his throat, Stiles climaxes.

He doesn’t come completely untouched what with smearing off against Derek’s clenched abdominals, but it’s the principle of the matter. That Stiles came with little friction on his cock. And Stiles' traitorous mind is already conjuring kinks to play up in order to achieve new bedroom goals. (Feminization at the top of the list, maybe himself cumming untouched in lacy panties while Derek pounds into his wet ‘pussy'. But that’s for another time.)

And Derek’s own member begins to plump at the filthy scene, at the amount of seed Stiles spurts after holding his orgasm off for so long, smearing pearly over the swollen head.

But neither have the wherewithal to initiate another round.

Coming down is euphoric itself in that Stiles' muscles have time to breathe, rebuild from their stress. And he nearly lets himself fall asleep on Derek’s shoulder, the man himself only fostering the rash notion with heavy palms that bleed security into Stiles' bones and a mouth that wet suckles up and down his drooping shoulder.

Soon the lulling palms are replaced with dancing fingers, counting the knobs of Stiles' spine, tickling ribs and scratching jellied thighs.

Stiles wants to be more annoyed. As it is, though, all he can do is deliver an admonishing nip to the pulse of Derek’s throat – half in efforts to hide his own grin. After Derek swats at his butt knowingly, Stiles leans back, drapes his arms over thick shoulders to greet Derek coyly.

“Just came back to me, and you’re already acting a little tart,” Derek eyes Stiles playfully.

While Derek’s already hot on his trail Stiles decides to throw him off by being candid: “I love your body hair, sourwolf,” prods his forefinger at the swell of Derek’s lower lip, “just enough to pull on.”

Derek is bright-eyed and sideways-smirked under the praise, so Stiles spaces fingers over his lower belly for emphasis, noses at a soft cheek to place a kiss at the corner of Derek’s grin. “Love.” Another kiss, tip of his tongue sneaking a swipe between his man’s lips. “Can’t wait to feel your pubes rashing against my hole. 

From sourwolf to Daddy in seconds, Derek growls out a grunt, a new glint in his eyes. “Keep going, baby; tell me how much you love my dick.”

It’s with great effort that Stiles keeps his flush to minimal saturation. He can’t have Derek too cocky, after all. “About that – I think I’m gunna name it Spiderman. Red and sticky.”

Instead of splutters and rouge cheeks as Stiles had anticipated, Derek’s brows pinch together to dissent: “No, Stiles. What about Thor or, like,” he pouts, fingers tapping against Stiles' hip, “the Hulk?”

Stiles gurgles out a sharp bark of laughter, dips his head because he's really too tired to keep going. He doesn’t give up without a fight, though. “Hmm,” he looks out of the corner of his eye as if considering it before glancing back down, studying Derek’s flaccid prick and dark fuzz, “Maybe the Hulk. You’re definitely a grower,” he shrugs as if apologetic. But really he’s imagining a knot. _Yum_.

Catching on to the banter, Derek’s rolls his eyes but won’t let himself laugh unless he reveals he’s all bark and no bite, rubs over Stiles' asscheek to squeeze, nips at his jaw. “I’ll show you a fucking grower.”

“Oh, anger issues as well,” Stiles retorts cheekily.

“Let’s talk about your smart mouth, then.”

“Let me live, Der,” he replies in a moan, pushes Derek’s sweaty hair back like he loves before slotting their lips together, nudging noses.

It’s not much of a kiss, really, Derek finally giving up and neither energetic enough to pull anything fancy, instead just letting the caress linger.

Derek pulls away with a wet noise after their moment of interlude. “I’m not letting this go, but hop off, babe. I need to clean us up before you pass out.”

It’s indeed for lack of energy that Stiles doesn’t protest, allows Derek to help him off his lap. But there’s not a position he can take that won’t promote either discomfort or a mess, so he whines until Derek helps him stand up.

“I’m sorry, _Słoneczko_ ,” Derek apologizes even though it’s not really his fault, “I’ll be just a minute.” And then he’s off – presumably to the kitchen or bathroom.

Stiles is hardly able to feel ridiculous with his soft dick out and briefs half off his ass before Derek’s back, rag in hand that he uses to gingerly clean up the tacky spunk on Stiles' tummy, his mostly desensitized cock. Pants are pulled upright as Derek finishes with the warm clean-up, relaxes his hand to the dip of Stiles' spine. “There we are. You can lay down now.”

“Kay,” Stiles hums, scratches at his belly where it’s cool from evaporating water. He tries sitting first, but his butt is a bit sore. On the way to lay on his stomach, though, he puts pressure on his knees, and, “Ow!” comes out in a harsh whimper. Nevertheless, he doesn’t try shifting once he’s settles on his stomach.  
“I’ll be right back, baby. I’ve got something to help the aches.” And Derek is off again, Stiles whining complaint because he just wants to be able to sleep.

Settling into Limbo, Stiles is just on the edge of sleep when Derek’s heavy palm smooths over his cheek, coaxes droopy, whisky eyes alert. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he lowers to his knees in front of the couch.

Derek tugs down Stiles' briefs, the latter dangerously unresponsive. A chuckle is indulged in, Derek placing a kiss to Stiles' full, rounded butt before cooled lotion is gentled to his cheeks. “Alright, turn on your side for me,” Derek instructs next, Stiles groaning but complying for Derek to apply the ointment to his knees as well.

And Stiles is halfway gone into dreamland still, but the tingling press of lips to the back of his hand keeps him conscious, cool, poignant lotion silky on his knuckles. The massaging pressure of Derek working over achy joints is so pleasant that Stiles doesn’t fight the low moan. Soon the skilled fingers are gone from Stiles', but whatever lotion that’s been sunken into his skin is working its magic, joints less tender already.

A denser salve is swiped over Stiles' lips, just under his nose and eyes – Vaseline, maybe, judging by the lack of aroma. And then Derek’s puttering around, a pregnant pause before he’s quietly climbing over Stiles to ease into the gap before the back of the sofa, lifting Stiles' head to place a fluffy pillow under it, pulling Stiles' briefs back up and draping a duvet over the both of them.

Ash eventually patters across the wooden floors and curls up at their feet as Derek clicks off the t.v., drops to the couch and curls an arm over Stiles' chest to pull them flush. They’ll talk everything over another time.

Stiles isn’t even able to keep up his stream of quixotical meditations like he’s so prone to do just before sleep, is surprised he’s not crying from the utter relief, bliss he’s swaddled in with a yielding body to melt into.

Cloud nine is an actual place, as it turns out. You just have to climb high enough in the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [rogueziam](Http://rogueziam.tumblr.com)
> 
> All kudos, comments, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated!


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